"Watson?"
The voice at the edge of my consciousness is gentle and scarcely audible. It almost evades capture, but I hear it nevertheless.
"Holmes…?"
I know him. His expression lights up with a pure happiness that I have never had the occasion to see. His slate eyes are…damp. Why are they damp? Has he been crying? But how can that be? Sherlock Holmes does not cry.
But once I hear his voice, I am forced to reconsider my thoughts. There is nothing in his voice but emotion.
"Oh, thank God….Thank God. My dear Watson."
